The Childhood of Immortality
by Venstre
Summary: "It's because they're kids, just a couple of boys, and far too young for the daily hell they're forced into. And in the moments of serenity, of calm and downtime and videogames and sleepovers, they act just as kids do." Mike/Chuck, fluff so gross it'll rot out your teeth. Very long oneshot, no plot whatsoever.


**Title**: The Childhood of Immortality  
**Description**: "It's because they're kids, just a couple of boys, and far too young for the daily hell they're forced into. And in the moments of serenity, of calm and downtime and videogames and sleepovers, they act just as kids do." Mike/Chuck, fluff so gross it'll rot out your teeth. Very long oneshot, no plot whatsoever.  
**Pairing(s)**: Mike/Chuck  
**Word Count**: 6,427  
**Notes**: First (finished) Motorcity fic, oh my lord I hope I did okay. Apologies if they seem out of character, and for any spelling/grammar mistakes…I've lost my beta reader and can only hope there's nothing I missed! The fic turned out a lot longer than I'd originally expected it to as well, so enjoy thousands of words of Mike and Chuck being vanilla as all sin.

* * *

So, it's been settled that Mike can't quite handle more than a week of downtime from Kane. Everyone knows that now. And though Mike likes to pretend he's got his restlessness under control, if he can't tear around in Mutt at least once every two days or more, he'll go stir-crazy.

Luckily for them, it isn't very often he gets to that point. They'll go five days, tops, before Kane cooks something up for them again. And by that point, Chuck's got things under control.

He knows Mike's weaknesses, and he knows how to get him to calm down. Whether they're playing some old video games (at least the ones that still work), cuddling up on the couch, or in the worst cases, taking Mutt out to screech around the highways, Chuck can always get Mike's mind off of Kane. And instead, he can make him just think about the present, and his friends, and what they're going to do after dinner instead of what would they do if Kane attacked right now.

Chuck's got this stuff in the bag.

He takes the looks the others give him as envy; not the familiar "I know something you don't."

What _would _they know, anyways?

* * *

"C'mon, man, my turn already."

He's sitting at Mike's feet, having willingly given up his seat on the couch for Claire because it's the gentlemanly thing to do, and patiently waiting his turn to go kick everyone else's butts in the game they're playing. Though she's perfectly content to cheer Julie on, Claire won't play, which means that it's just Chuck waiting for someone to give him his or her controller. Which doesn't seem to fetter them, as they play on without him.

"Just a sec, Chuckles," Mike says for about the tenth time. "Just lemme finish this race."

"You said that last time," Chuck pouts, crossing his arms and leaning against the couch. Mike's knees rest on either side of his head, just wide enough apart to fit Chuck's narrow shoulders between them. "And the time before. And the time before. And—"

"Quiet, Chuck, Texas needs to focus," Texas snaps, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed at the game. He always takes them far too seriously, even though he never wins. Like, ever.

"Aw, come on!" Dutch hollers, setting his controller on his lap in frustration as his character's car is reset from its recent impact. "That's the third blue one this race!"

Julie and Claire snicker, and Dutch huffs out a sigh.

And as Mike passes Dutch at the last second, securing another win, he jumps up, earning a surprised squeak from Chuck as he desperately avoids being stepped on. "Ha ha! Mike secures himself in first place once again!"

"Barely," Julie challenges him, and Claire fondly rolls her eyes. "You won the match by two points!"

"Yes, but I still won," Mike tells her back with a cocky smile. He turns back to his seat, dropping the controller in Chuck's lap. "Your turn, buddy."

Chuck smiles at him, rests his head on his knee for a brief second, and turns to the television to set up his character.

The game turns out to be much harder than he'd expected. The analog stick on the controller is super touchy, and he can't seem to bank on the turns hard enough and keeps crashing into walls. He hasn't played this one before—Dutch just found it the other day—and damn, the others are _good._

"Let off the gas now," Mike murmurs in his ear, leaning forward on crossed arms so his mouth is near Chuck's ear. "Accelerate out of the turn, not into it. Don't bother getting that block there, it's faster if you take the inside and ignore it. Now see where that cart's headed? Follow it through there, there's a shortcut…"

"Stop helping him!" Dutch yells. "That's cheating!"

Mike just lets out a small laugh, and rests his head on top of Chuck's, still whispering instructions to him from his spot.

Fifth isn't great, but it's better than last, and Chuck's happy with himself for that. And besides, he beat Texas.

"Only because Julie gave me that shrink thing and shoved me over the edge about fifty times," Texas argues, crossing his arms. "If it were me driving I would have just punched her car out of the way. _Hoooo-ya!"_ He punches the air in front of him, grinning as he imagines the invisible car careening off the cliff.

"Hey, you did pretty good for your first time," Mike tells him, his voice sincere and his smile bright. "What did I say? You've got it in you."

Chuck pretends he doesn't see Claire looking at them, a sort of questioning look in her eyes, and raises a hand to push his bangs out of his eyes and smile back at him.

"Thanks, bro."

(Mike doesn't play after that, choosing instead to help Chuck, who eventually comes in third. They're both happy with that, and when Mike leans over to wrap his arms around Chuck in an awkward behind-hug, Chuck again pretends he doesn't see the eyebrow Claire raises in their direction.)

* * *

For one who didn't even know what LARPing was until a few months prior, Mike can fake a pretty extravagant death scene.

"Uuuuugh," he moans, the toy sword buried in his armpit. "Farewell…my lord…" He made a sputtering sound, lolling his tongue out to the side with excessive amounts of drama. Unnecessary, but it was sort of cute—sort of in the way one would think of a three-year-old making loud noises while playing with his cars is.

Chuck grasps the cloak made out of Texas's recently cleaned bedsheet fastened around Mike, and drops to his knees. "Noooo! The Smiling Dragon ha—"

"Oh my _god_ you two, please don't tell me that's the fresh laundry you two are playing in!" Julie stomps in, looking around in utter horror at the mess they've made.

"We…uh…well, you see—" Chuck starts.

"Yep," Mike interrupts, sitting upright and pulling the sock clinging to his head off. "Sorry about that. We'll clean it up."

Julie takes in the sheets attached around their necks, the toy sword lying on the ground next to them and Mike's staff sitting about an arms-length away from him. "What are you two, five years old?" Her words are soft, and an amused smile slowly creeps across her face.

Chuck nervously bows his head, running a hand through his hair, and Mike just beams back at her.

With a shake of her head, Julie backs out with her hands in the air. "You two are idiots," she says fondly, before walking back outside.

They _have_ made a mess. The laundry's been thrown everywhere, and Chuck thinks that maybe he should just hope that Texas doesn't need the pair of boxer shorts caught in the rafters. Mike could always hoist Chuck up so he could reach for them, but if he wasn't going to miss them, why go through the effort?

With a laugh, Mike falls back against the pile of assorted clothing and bedding items. "Man, I see why you do this stuff," he says, grinning.

Chuck makes a _pshaw_ noise and crosses his arms. "It isn't anything like this," he argues, kicking his legs out in front of him so he can sit beside Mike. "It's…cooler."

"I'll bet," Mike says, throwing the sock from his head at Chuck.

"Hey!" Chuck protests, swatting away the sock and picking up a balled-up shirt. "Not cool!" He chucks it back at Mike, who bats it away and throws another article of clothing at him.

He's never had a laundry fight before, but by the end of it, they're panting and laughing and tired and curled up in a heap of clothes and sheets that are probably going to need to be washed again. Chuck makes one last feeble attempt to throw a pillowcase at him, and then collapses back with a soft _whoosh_.

"Jacob's gunna kill us." Mike grins, balling up a washcloth to throw at Chuck and then thinking better of it. He drops it beside himself and then lets his head fall back, letting out a sigh as he takes his eyes off Chuck.

Seizing his opportunity, Chuck grabs a sweater and jumps at Mike. He presses it into his face, letting out a victorious laugh as Mike starts, flailing his limbs and grabbing Chuck by the shoulders. His triumph is short-lived, however, as Mike flips him on his back, pulling the sweater away to reveal a sinister grin twisting his whole face.

Chuck yelps as he's pushed down, and Mike stands above him with one hand on his chest. For a second they just stay like that, Chuck feeling a little afraid and Mike smiling like a maniac, and then they both burst out into laughter once more.

Mike's still got his hand on his chest, and he drops his head beside Chuck's because they're laughing so hard he can't hold himself up straight. And when they finally calm down a little and Mike comes back up for air, their faces are so close together that Chuck instantly sobers up and feels his heart pick up the pace a little bit.

It doesn't help that Mike's giving him that _look_, like he's studying him, and Chuck suddenly gets self-conscious. He reaches up to brush his bangs back into his face but Mike catches his arm, keeping it from reaching his face.

"No," he says finally. "I like being able to see your eyes."

And Chuck has to look away because he's one hundred percent sure that he's blushing like a maniac.

Mike just laughs again, lets go of his arm, and stands up. Reaching down a hand, he offers to help Chuck up. "We should probably clean up."

Chuck takes it, nodding. "Probably."

He tries his hardest not to think about Mike's lips, that close to his own, and what would have happened if the other Burner had tried to kiss him.

He almost succeeds.

* * *

"It's autumn," Chuck complains. "It's not supposed to be this _cold._"

"Yeah, you look plenty cold wrapped up in that cocoon of yours," Dutch retorts, rolling his eyes at him.

Chuck's lying on his side, bundled up in a massive duvet cover that his feet stick out the end because Mike didn't really think of that before he rolled him up in it like a burrito. Sitting proved to be impossible, as did getting out, so now he can just lay there as Mike props himself up against him. "As a matter of fact, my feet are _freezing._" He accentuates the last word, aiming it right at Mike.

"It's not my fault you grew up to be a beanpole," Mike laughs, turning his head to smirk at Chuck.

Chuck tries, and fails, to bring up a leg to kick him. Thankfully Julie's there, sitting less than a meter away, and she gently swats the back of his head.

"Ow!" Mike complains.

"He's not a _beanpole_," Julie corrects him. Chuck smiles wide, showing his teeth. "He's more like…a praying mantis. He's all limbs."

Chuck's grin drops faster than he can blink. "Hey!"

"You're right," Mike agrees, leaning back against Chuck some more. "But did you know that the praying mantis is one of the most dangerous bug predators?" He turns to Chuck once more with a wink.

"Our Chuck?" Dutch asks, incredulous. Suddenly Chuck's thankful Texas is out helping Jacob; no matter what the rest of them say, no one would jump at that faster than him. Regardless, Dutch continues right on. "I think you're thinking of the wrong bug, dude."

Mike shrugs. "Hey, you never know. Maybe underneath all of that computer genius and passenger seat driving, there's a mean fighter underneath."

Despite himself, Chuck can't help but to let his lips twitch in the faintest bit of a smile. Trust Mike to call him a geek and a whimp in the same breath, but use words that made them seem not all bad.

Dutch shrugs. "Whatever you think, man." He stands then, and Roth makes his high-pitched whirring noise and follows. "I'm gunna go get back to work. This new upgrade Texas wanted me to install is a pain in the butt to finish."

Mike gives a sort of salutary wave, and Julie nods. Once it's just the three of them, Mike kicks his left foot over his right and leans his head back against the blanket-cocoon of Chuck with a smile. Something passes over Julie's face, something that Chuck isn't quite very comfortable with, and she stands as well.

"I'm out to do some tune-ups of my own," she tells the two of them, giving them a little wave as she walks away. "Have fun."

Chuck isn't sure whether she winks at them or not, but he's suddenly very sure that he needs to get out of these blankets because he's stuffy and claustrophobic and Mike is so very close and—

"You warm yet?" Mike asks him, pushing off Chuck to lie on his stomach in front of him. That grin's on his face again, and Chuck isn't sure whether to hold his breath or not.

Instead of trying to form words, he just nods.

"Good," Mike says, and stands up. "Because I've been waiting to try this."

"Wait, Mikey, what are yo—oh no, don't you _dare!"_ Chuck shouts, squirming against his blanket prison.

Mike just grins, standing, and takes the corner of the blanket. With a mighty tug he sends Chuck rolling away, his vision spinning and his head feeling like it's filled with water and oh god so dizzy and—

Then he's stopped, susceptible to the chilly air again and Mike is laughing, lying on the blanket next to him, and Chuck makes a growling noise and tries to make it to his hands and knees. But he's still pretty dizzy, and he ends up sprawling himself against Mike's chest as he picks up the blanket and reaches to smother him with it.

Taking advantage of his inebriated state, Mike just gives him a shove so that he's on his back once more. The blanket never reaches his face, and Chuck's head is still spinning and Mike's face is everywhere and he starts to laugh too.

Mike's got his hands on his wrists so he can't move, and Chuck gives an experimental squirm in his grip to no avail.

"Okay, you win," Chuck whines, still smiling. "Lemme go."

Mike shakes his head. "Nuh-uh."

After shaking and squirming and trying his damndest to get out but not quite succeeding, Chuck finally turns to plan B. When Mike closes his mouth from laughing again he lunges forwards, pressing a quick kiss to Mike's mouth and then shoving him away with all his strength. With a look caught somewhere between shock and awe Mike falls back, and Chuck clambers up on top of him, sitting on his stomach so he can't get up.

And Mike laughs. For a second Chuck thinks he's made a very, very bad move, but then Mike reaches back up and grabs Chuck's face and all but smashes their lips together and boy is Chuck done thinking.

Mike's lips are surprisingly soft against his own, and Chuck puts his hands on either side of Mike's head so he won't fall over. He's weak in the joints but teeming with energy at the same time, and he doesn't know what's happening and he doesn't know what to do and he's just about to have a panic attack when Mike pulls back.

"You started that," Mike accuses him with that shit-eating grin, and Chuck's sure that his face is red as an apple right now.

When Chuck opens his mouth to sputter out a reply, Mike pushes him onto his back once more and kisses him again.

Chuck likes kissing him.

* * *

"Ugh, no, Texas. We are _not_ watching _Way of the Dragon_ again. Ever."

Chuck can't help but to giggle at Dutch's comment. He's lying on his stomach in his sleeping bag, Mike curled half around him from the outside with a blanket covering him.

Julie cackles a bit from her blanket fortress on the one easy chair, and Texas throws himself into a very physical description about why it's a great movie and the reasons why they should watch it.

"And then, he's just like _POW POW POW!_ And Lee's like _HOOOO-YA!_ And then—"

"Back pocket, Texas," Mike laughs, finally putting an end to his martial art punches and kicks and sound effects.

"We should watch that one about the underground city," Julie pipes up. "The one that came out a little while before we were all born. It's still pretty good."

Chuck really doesn't care what they watch, so he just kind of lies there, listening to them bicker and banter with half an ear while he types away on a code he's modifying just for fun. When Texas takes his pillow and throws it against Dutch's face, though, everyone goes silent, waiting to gauge the artist's reaction.

Which, apparently, is to take his own pillow and hurl it right back at them.

And then Julie, who not that long ago accused Mike and Chuck of acting like five year olds, takes hers and slams it against Texas from behind, and suddenly all three of them are grabbing whatever soft items they can get their hands on and trying to bludgeon each other to death with them.

There's screaming and laughing and Texas making sound effects, and Chuck lets out a terrified squeal and tries to hide inside his sleeping bag. He feels Mike leap up beside him, grab his own pillow, and join the froe as well. Whatever. As long as they don't drag him into it as well, he'll be fine.

Except then he looks out right as they gang-attack Mike, who falls back beside him with a shout and a laugh. And suddenly Dutch is shoved down as well, who grabs Texas before he falls and drags him with him, and Julie leaps back before the chain can be continued.

"Ugh! Get _off!_" Chuck complains, but it's half-hearted because Mike is curled around his shoulders laughing like a maniac, Dutch and Texas are tangled in a heap beside him, and to be honest it's kind of nice having them all there giggling like morons. When Mike grabs Julie's leg and drags her down as well they just kind of lay there, riding out the last of their hysteria, and then Chuck clears his throat.

"I can't feel my legs, Dutch," he complains, trying to wiggle his toes from underneath Dutch's back. The mechanic laughs and adjusts his position, but no one's really willing to get up.

Chuck's still in the same place on the floor, Mike's sprawled half on top of him in a weird position that doesn't put all of his weight on him, Texas and Dutch are poking each other in a tangle of limbs beside him, and Julie's just sort of sprawled over all of them. And Chuck doesn't mind it. It's nice, especially when Mike rests his head on his shoulder.

"So if we're not going to watch Texas's movie, which one are we going to watch?" Texas suddenly asks, and Julie smacks him gently on the shoulder with a laugh.

"I vote for that one you suggested," Dutch says, turning to give Texas a look. "Anything's better than watching that cheesy Ancient tragedy."

Texas is about to pipe up again when Mike steps in. "We'll watch it, then," he decides for them, and helps Julie up before the other two reluctantly go back to their spots—Texas taking up the entire couch, and Dutch curled up in some blankets beside the far wall.

Mike, however, stays where he is. Chuck's a little nervous that someone might see—no, he's just nervous that Texas'll see. He's fairly sure that Julie knows, since she seems to have a second sense with that kind of stuff, and the looks they get from Dutch sometimes makes Chuck wonder just how much he knows as well. Texas, however, is ignorant as ever.

(Claire knows. Chuck knows that she knows. He knows this, because she knew even before he did.)

Mike flips himself around so that he's facing the screen, his shoulders and head rested up against Chuck's neck. And Chuck smiles, curls himself around Mike in the sleeping bag, and thinks about just how awesome this is.

To some, right now, they're just a ragtag group hanging out in the slums of Motorcity. To others, they're still heroes, even in moments of downtime like this. But to each other, they're family—always there for each other, and though they're a little dysfunctional, they'll always have each other's backs.

Comfort is a rare thing for Chuck, with nerves strung as tight as his are, and he takes it wherever he can get it.

Which, in this case, is the lot of them just enjoying the company of one another and falling asleep before the movie even ends.

Chuck stands, careful not to wake Mike, and shuts everything off. When he gets back into his sleeping bag Mike stirs, half-opening one eye, before Chuck curls himself around him and they both drift off together.

* * *

There's something almost peaceful about scrambling his fingers across his keyboard without having something shooting at him while he does so. Dutch is banging away at the ceiling with a hammer, muttering something about being a mechanic and not an interior designer, and Chuck just grins and shakes his head.

"For Mike, dude," he reminds him. "This is all for him."

"I know," Dutch sighs, taking out a pocket-sized welder to attach the two pieces of holographic screens together. "Roth, c'mere and help. You'd be perfect for this."

Chuck's smile grows as he watches Roth whir over, and with a few final touches to the coding that he's been working on the past week, shuts down the system and stands up.

"Done!" he shouts, cracking his knuckles against his hands. "You need help?"

Dutch scowls at him, giving him a _look_. "No, man, don't worry about it. I'm almost done over here too; don't mind these screens just lying around. They're extras."

With a laugh, Chuck walks over. "Tell me what to do."

"Well, you can start by handing me another screen," Dutch tells him, flipping up his welding mask and holding out a hand. His words are sharp but his tone is soft, and there is the trace of a smile on his face as he grabs the offered material from Chuck.

It was Chuck's secret project, one he had been thinking of for a while. While the others ran certain errands in their cars or ripped around the place for no apparent reason, Chuck had holed himself in his room and done hours upon hours of research and coding to make everything perfect. Julie had gotten him the screens he'd needed after he told her what he was going to do with them and Dutch had offered to help put them up, and Texas agreed to just keep quiet about the whole thing.

"We're almost done, man! I wonder what Mike'll think." Chuck feels a little tingle of dread go through him as he wonders what Mike will think about it, and feels his smile falter a little bit. The screen he was handing away shakes a little in his grasp, and after securing it on the roof, Dutch flips up his mask again and beams down at him.

"Don't you worry," he tells Chuck, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "He's going to love it. I know he will."

Chuck manages a smile back, and hands him another screen. "Thanks."

Down goes the mask again, and Dutch takes it from him. "Anytime."

Seven more screens go up, and then it is done. Chuck runs a diagnostic test to see if everything was wired right—he'd done that part himself even though Dutch easily could have as well, to make sure that it was done to his liking—and then fires it up.

"Wow," Dutch murmurs, his voice quiet as he takes it all in around him.

There's no time for Chuck to enjoy it. Mike is coming in mere minutes, and he has to make sure everything is perfect before he does. He's been working way too hard on this to have it perform at anything short of perfect.

After going through all the functions and making sure nothing was working at less than one hundred percent, Chuck shuts it down. Dutch lets out a disappointed _aww_, but is quickly silenced by an out-of-character glare from Chuck.

Dutch laughs and opens his mouth to say something, but Julie comes rushing in before he can. "He's here!" she tells them, grabbing Dutch and all but dragging him out.

"Hey!" he protests, grabbing his tools at the last second. He gives a sort of salute and a grin to Chuck as he is pulled outside, leaving Chuck alone.

"Okay Chuck, you can do this," he tells himself, squeezing his eyes shut with embarrassment when he notices the quaver to his voice. "It's just…just like Julie said. You worked your tail off on this for two weeks, he's going to like it no matter wha—"

"Hey, Chuckles."

"—AAAAH MIKEY!" Chuck shouts mid-sentence, startled, flailing around and almost bashing faces with Mike. He tries to lean away but trips over his own feet, falling backwards towards the ground. But before he hits it Mike's there, grabbing his hand and pulling him back to his feet.

"What've you got here?" Mike asks, looking up at the ceiling and the holographic panels nearly welded together. "What's with the redecorating?"

Chuck runs a hand through his hair, looking away, and doesn't brush it out of his face. "Well…I got some help, Julie went and got them for me and Dutch help me put them up…" He takes a deep breath, trying to relax his body some. "I had this idea, and since you sometimes miss the sky in Deluxe, I…uh…jeez, here, just lie down and let me show you."

With a small laugh, Mike lays himself down and holds his hands together over his stomach. Chuck takes one last deep breath, projects a keyboard in front of him, and turns it on.

The tiles light up, flashing with colours until they all go dark again. At first Mike looks a little confused, until tiny little dots begin to appear and a large white orb shines down on them. It rotates and moves, setting the right position for their location and the time of year, and then slows down and stays stationary.

Above them are millions of stars, the whole Milky Way, mapped accurately to the umpteenth coordinate and gently twinkling above them. They shimmer with lifelike light, brighter than even in Deluxe.

Risking a glance at Mike, Chuck feels his heart speed up when he sees Mike's face frozen in disbelief. He can't tell if he looks like he's going to break into smiles or storm out, and Chuck swallows nervously.

"So…what do you think?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite succeeding. He laughs nervously, the sound high-pitched, and looks around at the ceiling. Nothing's shorted out yet, thankfully. "It was…it could have used more time, and a little more preparation, it's a little sloppy with the movement codes and I probably should have—"

He's busy rattling off the things that could have been better that he doesn't see Mike sit himself back up and lean over him until he's got their faces mashed together in a kiss. Chuck's words stop themselves right in their track, and when Mike pulls away he looks so happy and so _proud,_ and Chuck's never been good with compliments so he doesn't quite know what to do with the look on his face.

"I think it's perfect," Mike tells him, the smile on his face growing. "How did you manage to pull this off without me finding out? It's so…real. And everything's in the right place."

Chuck laughs, a little nervously. "Well, it took me a couple of weeks," he explains, trying not to use computer-talk so Mike will understand. "I had to do a lot of research and figure out how to program those stupid panels, but…it was worth it." He smiles back, still a little self-conscious, and Mike grabs his face in his hands and kisses him again and suddenly he's not anymore.

"Thank you," Mike says, his voice low. "That's…wow. It's top-notch, Chuckles."

"It's not the real thing, though," Chuck counters, letting out a sigh. "It's just a substitute. I can't bring the real thing down here, because of Deluxe and all…"

Mike shakes his head, still grinning. "I think you did fantastic. You've gotta stop being so hard on yourself; this is awesome."

"I…thanks," Chuck finally caves, deciding not to say any more in case he puts himself down further. Instead he just lies beside him, their shoulders touching as they watch the stars twinkle in the fake sky.

At one point Chuck looks back towards the door and sees Julie there, a gigantic smile on her face as she gives him the thumbs-up and walks away.

He smiles back, and watches her leave the two of them alone in the soft light.

* * *

Chuck swears Mike's never driven Mutt this fast his entire life.

He swears it every time he's in the car with him, but this time, he means it.

(He means it every time as well, but he's _sure_ this time has set a new record.)

"Hold on, Chuckles!" Mike hollers, throwing Mutt into a lower gear to rip around a turn. She raises herself onto her two outside tires, making a screeching noise that's almost as loud (and even more high-pitched) than the noise coming out of Chuck's mouth.

They're not being chased by anything, and they're not racing. Mike just wanted to take Mutt out, and having nothing better to do, Chuck followed. He's regretting that decision big-time right now.

"MIKEY!" Chuck yells, holding desperately onto whatever he can get a handhold on. They're in midair now, feeling strangely weightless as Mutt starts to careen towards the ground. Chuck screams, not even needing to hold his bangs out of his face to see as the momentum forces them back for him.

"Hey, you wanted to come," Mike laughs, cranking the wheel so Mutt performs about four 360º turns before skidding to a stop in front of their hideout.

Tumbling out of the passenger seat, Chuck lands on his face onto the pavement and quickly goes about picking himself back up. "That's the last time I ride with you!" he accuses Mike, though both of them know it's not the truth at all.

Mike just laughs again, still wearing that shit eating grin, and raises his hands above his head in a stretch. "Man, it's later than I thought," he observes, checking the holographic clock. "I hope no one waited up for us."

Chuck's still trembling when they get inside, and goes straight for the fridge. They're little 'outing' made them miss dinner, and truth be told, he's starving.

"There's nothing _here_," Chuck complains. "First you almost kill us, and then we miss dinner! Everything's probably closed, too." He frowns, holding a hand to his stomach.

And then Mike gets that grin again. "Let's make something," he decides.

Chuck rolls his eyes, even though Mike can't see them. "Neither of us knows the first thing about cooking."

But Mike's already digging in the utensil drawer, finding a big wooden spoon to stir whatever he has in mind with. "We'll learn."

Despite himself, Chuck groans and pulls a hair elastic from his pocket. "This is going to end _terribly_. Probably with one of us setting something on fire."

"Not if we cook with water," Mike tells him, pulling some macaroni shells out of a drawer and a packet of powdered cheese. "You can't set water on fire."

"Actually—"

"_Plain_ water."

Pushing his bangs out of his face, Chuck rolls his eyes again. "Whatever."

"Stop worrying," Mike tells him, planting a kiss on his cheek before grabbing a pot to fill with water. "It'll turn out fine."

He ends up burning the shells to the pot itself even though Chuck told him he has to stir, and dumps the cheese packet in just as Chuck's reading the instructions that explain how to drain the water out first. They try again, this time Mike reading and Chuck cooking, and even though Mike keeps flicking the soggy old burnt shells at Chuck while he works, he manages to get it right.

"There," he proclaims, holding the spoon with some well-boiled shells out of the scalding water. "_That's_ how you do i—stop throwing those things at me!" Chuck grabs the wet pasta off his shoulder and throws it back at Mike, watching with cruel glee as it bounces off his forehead.

Mike, of course, just laughs and flicks another one in his direction.

"You know what? Fine. You make your own macaroni," Chuck declares, draining out the pot and pouring in the cheese. He quickly sets it in a bigger container, taking a spoon to eat it with and stomping towards the rooms. "This stuff is mine."

"Hey, that's no fair!" Mike protests with a laugh, waving the spoon in the air. "I read you the instructions!"

Chuck just glares at him, kicking open the door to his room and stepping in. He's barely set the stuff down before Mike's behind him, his own spoon in his hand as he dips under Chuck's arm and steals a portion of it. With a squawk of indignation Chuck squeezes his arm down on Mike's head to hold him in place, but Mike is still stronger than him, and he propels them both back onto the bed.

"Get off of—_ouch!_ That was my foot!" Chuck shouts, wrestling with the blankets and Mike all at once and trying in vain to get the upper hand.

"Sorry," Mike tells him, and though he means it, he goes about grabbing Chuck's wrists and pinning them above his head with one hand. They're panting now, tuckered out from their scuffle, and Mike's face is filling up Chuck's vision so he can't see anything else. Challenging brown eyes stare back at him, daring him to do something, _anything_, so Chuck kisses him.

"I'm still mad," he manages out around Mike's lips.

Instead of stopping, Mike just laughs a little and kisses along Chuck's jawbone. "C'mon. Let's go and play that meteor shower you just coded."

Chuck reluctantly lets Mike haul him up. "But I haven't tested it out yet," he complains.

"Well, now's as good a time as any."

With a small _humph_ Chuck grabs the container of macaroni and follows Mike. They've been spending so many nights in that star room, as Texas dubbed it, that they've thrown in a mattress and a heap of blankets. At least it's getting used, Chuck reflects.

Mike eats out of the container while Chuck sets it up, and then hands it back with a smile that's far too proud of himself when Chuck turns around and it's not there. When he finishes Mike takes it again and lies down, motioning beside him for Chuck to follow suit.

"Man, I still think this is the greatest thing," Mike tells him.

Chuck smiles and runs a hand through his hair, causing it to fall out of his eyes and back against the ground. He can't really eat lying down so he just sets his food beside him—he's not as hungry anymore, anyways. It can wait.

"C'mon," Mike prods, slipping an arm around Chuck's shoulders. "Let's try the meteor shower."

Sitting up and summoning a screen and a keyboard, Chuck taps away at it until the ceiling lights up. The stars begin to appear, one by one, faster and faster until hundreds of shining little dots are appearing every second. Mike's face breaks out into a smile, and in that second, even the moon that appears in the far corner—a full one, like it is up in Deluxe—doesn't seem as bright in comparison. Chuck brings up a hand to hold his bangs away from his eyes for a second, allowing a nervous smile of his own at the sight.

When the program finally starts and the room is filled with shooting star after shooting star, Chuck shuts off the screen and looks up. It's a little too clustered towards the middle, but he doubts Mike minds it and it's an easy fix.

"C'mon," Mike says, tugging on the back of Chuck's shirt and causing him to fall back into his arms. "You're missing the show."

"I _created_ the show, Mikey," Chuck retorts.

Mike doesn't say anything, instead pressing the lower half of his face against Chuck's hair and heaving out a contented sigh. "It's better than Deluxe. It's perfect," Mike mumbles against his head, his words muffled. "Just like you."

"I—" Chuck's about to bite back, tell him otherwise, but he can almost feel the happiness radiating from Mike and the last thing he needs is another spat about his sense of self-worth. "Thanks."

He _can_ feel the smile on Mike's face grow against the back of his head, and in that moment, everything is perfect. He can forget about Kane and forget about the Terras, and pretend that the Duke doesn't exist and that they're not living in a metal wasteland. For now, it's just him and Mike.

Jacob'll probably get mad about the burnt macaroni and the dirty dishes, but Chuck's okay with that. It's just a tiny speed bump in the twisting, turning, at times roadless journey they're all on, only having survived this long because of each other. It's because they're kids, just a couple of boys, and far too young for the daily hell they're forced into. And in the moments of serenity, of calm and downtime and videogames and sleepovers, they act just as kids do.

Just like this; just like they do every spare chance they get. Goofy and immature and stupid, they've got a lot to learn in a short amount of time. But they can do it.

They'll do it together.

Chuck's smile grows, and he shifts himself closer to Mike.

They'll be okay.


End file.
